


argument

by Athina_Blaine



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24021136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athina_Blaine/pseuds/Athina_Blaine
Summary: It's late. Martin asks Jon to come home
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 202





	argument

“It’s getting late, Jon.”

Jon glanced up from the pages of _North Essex Cold Cases 1970-75_ to see Martin standing in the doorway of the archives. He checked his watch.

“Is it really already almost one?” He slid the book back into its place on the shelf and started scanning the next row down. “I’ll start packing up once I find the book mentioned in this statement.”

“Jon. Come home.”

Jon looked up properly this time. Martin’s eyes were bright under the single fluorescent light and he was clutching the strap of his bag. Jon held back a frustrated sigh as he pulled out another book.

“Martin, I _promise_ I’ll go home after I chase down this lead.”

“That’s what you said last night, and you didn’t come back until four o’clock.”

“I apologize that not every follow up can be wrapped up within a convenient thirty-minute timespan.” Jon struck two more books on top of the first.

Martin squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. “It would make me feel a lot better if you came home with me. Please.”

Jon chuckled, examining the spine of one of his selections. “Oh, yes, people being slaughtered every other day via eldritch abominations, but what really matters is our _feelings_.” He slid it back into place, moving on to the next row. “You really need to get your priorities sorted.”

Martin didn’t respond to that. Jon turned. Martin was staring downwards at the floor, arms hanging loosely by his sides.

Jon’s stomach sank.

“Martin—”

Martin blinked, and he held up his hands. “No, you’re right. You know what you’re doing, Jon. Sorry.” He turned to leave, waving half-heartedly. “See you at home.”

Jon struggled to get the words out, but Martin was already gone. Biting back a swear, he returned the books to their place and stalked further into the archives. He didn’t even know what he was doing in that section in the first place.

The television was on, casting dark shadows across the flat as Jon closed the door. He walked around the sofa to find Martin curled up and snoring softly. A snivelly yet persuasive voice told him to walk straight to the bedroom and leave the whole thing alone, but instead he lowered himself onto the couch, turning off the TV.

Pushing back a portion of Martin’s hair, Jon pressed his lips to his temple. Martin’s eyes fluttered open. He saw Jon and scrambled up straight, almost knocking their heads together.

“You’re back.” He glanced at the digital clock. _1:45_. “I thought—”

“I couldn’t focus.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Jon shut his eyes tightly. “God, please, don’t be.”

Martin rubbed the back of his neck, pushing himself into a more upright position. “Jon, you’re an adult, okay? And you’re trying to do something important. I shouldn’t be getting in your way all the time.”

Jon’s throat bobbed as he tried to find the words. He laughed quietly, lowering his head.

“How can I still be so bad at this?” Gently, he took one of Martin’s hands in his, stroking his thumb through the grooves of his knuckles. “I didn’t mean any of it. And don’t ever think you’re getting in my way, okay?”

Martin was quiet.

“You’re just trying to care about me, and I keep finding ways to throw it back in your face.” Jon swallowed, working his jaw. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Jon.” Martin turned over their hands, interlocking their fingers. “I just wish you took care of yourself a little better.”

“I know.”

“Not for me or for the Institute or for the entire bloody world. Just for yourself.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Moving closer, Martin curled into Jon’s bony side, tucking his face into his bony neck. Jon closed his eyes, nosing into Martin’s soft hair and breathing. He was wearing Jon’s shampoo again. He seemed to have a chronic need to pilfer it. Jon didn't mind, much.

“Let’s sleep in tomorrow,” Martin said, lifting his head and resting his chin on Jon’s shoulder. He continued in singsong, “I can make pancakes.”

“Martin …”

“With chocolate chips.”

“I don’t think that’s advisable.”

“Okay, fine, blueberries.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, come on, Tim and everyone can hold down the fort at least until lunch. What’s Elias going to do, fire us?” He wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist and squeezed. “Play hooky. Harness your inner rebellious uni student.”

“Excuse you, I was a model for my professors.”

“You were insufferable, is what you were.”

Chuckling, Jon held onto one of Martin’s wrists, resting his cheek against his forehead. “I haven’t slept in past six since I was a teenager.”

“Well, sleeping’s only _half_ the part of sleeping in. The other half is just relaxing in bed, reading a book or watching TV or, you know, whatever else strikes our fancy. Don’t worry, I’ll show you how it’s done. I'm kind of an expert.”

Jon hummed, distracted by Martin’s warm breath on his neck. He sighed. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You have an uncanny ability to wear me down.”

“Hooray,” Martin said. He cupped the back of Jon’s head and planted a kiss on his neck, then seemed to be quite taken with the whole thing as he dropped another kiss on his jaw then one more on the corner of his mouth.

Lips curled with amusement, Jon tilted his head, catching Martin halfway to his chin. Martin yelped, muffled, and then the tension drained out of his shoulders. He let himself be kissed, rubbing his thumb in small, slow circles just under Jon’s ear.

Jon dragged a hand down the soft cotton of Martin’s sleeve, squeezing the inner curve of his elbow. He was bitten by a sudden temptation to press him down into the couch for a proper, senseless kiss, but a wave of exhaustion rolled over him just then.

They parted with a wet pop, Martin humming thoughtfully. He poked Jon’s nose with his own, earning a light, breathless laugh.

“I’m knackered,” Jon said.

“Yeah.” With a cheeky grin, Martin snuck in one more kiss. “Let’s get ready for bed.”


End file.
